Salvation Shall Not Be Given By Thee
by William Gilbert
Summary: A examination of Rorscach's mind and a story of his actions - how they are affected by his cruel philosophy towards mankind.


Rorschach's Journal

January 4th, 1971

Woke up and land lady was screeching at her children for some dumb thing. The alarm clock didn't go off. But, I never need it anymore. The moon still hung in the sky when I left, but I could see the light of the sun glimmering over the horizon as I ventured down the street. No one on the street today, like always this early.

Crime is non-existent between four a.m. and noon. Most people claim this to be the worst part of the day. But, it's the calmest. All criminals still lay in their bed. Want to go find them. But, it's not such a good idea.

The roads are being paved as I write. See the asphalt being laid down upon the ground once again, waiting to be covered in some animal's blood. No one walks the streets as of right now, 10:21 a.m. Only a mom and her child have been seen.

This city becomes more and more afraid of me each day. I have seen it's true face.

A storm is rising, swirling in the air. Think Armageddon might come today. Maybe yes, maybe no. The signs are even more evident now. The fights, the rise in crime. It's all the upbringing of the flames of Hell. The sound of the trumpets.

And it's all the repulsive human race's fault.

As I ponder these possibilities, the world coming to an end and all, the result is something along the lines of an armed uprising against this government of ours. However, I shall be there to bring them down like the animals they are.

Salvation shalt not be given by thee.

_Rorschach walks the streets all night long, looking for thieves, murderers and rapists. He does not find them on this night, a gloomy night which is cold. Crime during the winter is solemn and boring, nothing ever happens._

_For the past week or so, he has becoming more and more depressed. Something that no one that possible. He becomes the mask, never desiring to take the thing off. _

_Another night passes by without crime, and Rorschach is left suspicious - something that most people attach with the insane. _

Rorschach's Journal

January 7th, 1971

There are no three thugs left in the prison today. Found them robbing back. Funny how they do such foolish things. The idiots must know about my existence. I put criminals in jail almost every night. I hospitalize them all the time, giving the right beating to the severity of the horrible crime.

One got a broken arm. Other left with three cracked ribs, a fractured shin, and blood covering his face. Some call it cruelty. I call it justice.

This world needs justice. Needs a hero to stand up for what is right. Needs that hero to stay a hero, and not go into hiding because of some stupid government act. Needs to deliver truth. Truth. An idea contaminated by humanity.

This world needs _me._

Gunshots fire from below as I write. They play songs like the drumbeats of war. Listen to them, hear the chaos of truth. I created that. Helped this song begin. Some call it the conductor. Just playing my role, though.

The most necessary role in the world.

Police will get to the gunfire before I do. They will reach the bullets before anyone does. I hear their sirens. Playing a part to this horrible symphony.

_Rorschach walks around the city the next day without his mask. He holds a picket sign. The sign says 'the End is Nigh'. It isn't truly clear if Walter, Rorschach's true name, is religious or not. From the picket sign, it is safe to assume that such is true. However, assumptions aren't always facts._

_He walks up to the newspaper stand and purchases the paper in which he buys everyday. The news stand owner asks 'So, is the world gunna end today?'_

_Rorschach replies with a frightening statement: 'For you it will'._

_The news man looks at his customer with worry, then takes the money. At the moment, exactly what Walter means by this is unknown. But, by his next journal entry, it can be discovered._

Rorschach's Journal

January 8th, 1971

It's four a.m. Blood flows down hands. Knife has been washed out in the sink. But, the stench can't be erased. He had it coming for him. Questions shall never be forgiven. The damned call my name like a cry for help. He wanted it to end.

Only brought justice.

On the couch of this man's house right now. He is a widower. Makes job a lot easier. No fingerprints left behind. Wore gloves upon arrival. He made no noise. Didn't see me.

Carpet is forever stained. Needs to be burned.

Then again, the whole world needs to be burned.

One life at a time, they all need to go. Go down into the abyss long forgotten. Where I came from. Insanity some call it. Only truth, though.

Paper might be illegible. Blood smeared from hands transferred to paper.

Guess this is the poor man's obituary. Guess he will share it with a hundred more soon enough. Soon can come fast enough, though. Doomsday clock needs to reach the starting point. Will trigger if no else will.

I've taken it upon me to rid the world of man kind. Shouldn't be to hard. They're all weak. Weaker than me. Weaker than true justice.


End file.
